Crossover
by applestrudel
Summary: Not quite life, and yet not quite death, but a step somewhere in between. [oneshot]


So! My second story is up! This one's not like the first, though. It's darker, with a sense of mystery (hopefully). Also, no fluffy romance. Sorry to disappoint.

Also, sorry, but there's no sequel to the other - thanks for reviewing, though. :)

Enjoy! (reading tip: read slowly, don't rush through.)

disclaimer: not mine

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**Crossover**

The first thing she noticed was that it was dark. So, very dark.

It wasn't the usual shadowy-grey dimness that was called darkness. This darkness was complete, absolute, the kind of pitch blackness that made one feel as if the sun had gone out for good, that a sense of sight had ceased to exist.

If it had been any other time, she would probably have screamed. She had always hated the darkness since she was four, when her sister had locked her in the attic. But now, here in this pitch blackness, all she felt was a strange inexplicable sense of calm understanding.

The place was so quiet it was unnerving. She called out tentatively into the darkness, her words her only assurance of her own existence. They echoed through the unseen hall, gradually dying away, like whispers fading into the depth of eternity. Silence once again prevailed, and it deafened her.

She sighed inwardly. Holding her arms out before her instinctively, she walked forward slowly and hesitantly, her shoes tapping sharply against the hard stone floor. Her fingers brushed against a cold hard surface in front of her, and she stopped, startled. _Marble_, she thought distractedly, as she ran her fingers over the wall. _And with letters cut deep into it_, she realised, as her fingers ran over a series of sharp grooves and depressions in the surface.

_How strange_, she thought. "Now some illumination would be good," she whispered to herself sardonically, not expecting any response anymore.

But gradually, as if the walls had heard her, she began to realise that it wasn't as dark as it had been a moment ago. In fact, she realised, she could actually make out where the floor ended and the walls began, and shadows began to take form. The room, or _hall_, considering its size, was lit eerily in a faint yellow glow, casting light on the marble walls and dark shadows on the ground.

The hall was rectangular, with a ceiling so high she could barely see it. Its walls were inscribed all over with strange lettering, which was, on closer inspection, words engraved in what seemed like every language on individual slabs. She cast her eyes over Latin, Arabic and then some strange unintelligible squiggles, finally letting them settle on English. "Gorbug Mulmur," it read in big bold letters, and below the name, "1207 – 1251".

_Looks like a death hall_, she thought, as her eyes ran over more entries, if they could be called that, on the walls. All four walls were covered with them, except for the very last row, at the same level as her shoes. _Maybe that's how the ceiling got so high_, she thought vaguely, _because more people keep dying_. And suddenly, she began to have a vague understanding why she was in this place.

She turned around and stared at the entire hall for the first time, and this time she saw something she had missed before. There, in the far corner of the room, stood a little wooden table with a unspeakably thick book and a small table lamp on it, the lamp that had been shedding light on the entire hall, it seemed.

She walked toward the table quickly, instantly forgetting all else. Standing at the table, she began poring over the book, scanning the names as she flipped through the pages, until she stopped at the last entry. She caught the breath in her chest sharply. It read, in his very own familiar handwriting with its distinguishable loops and flourishes, "_James Harold Potter, death curse_".

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. When she opened them again, she saw the little copper plating bolted into the wood which read, "kindly enter your name". She complied, writing "_Lily Evans_" under the column headed 'NAME', then paused as she stared at the next column.

'CAUSE OF DEATH,' it stated. She blinked, suddenly unsure. Why was she dead, if that was what she was? She closed her eyes again, and fought to remember.

­_…she had been running, stumbling, with her baby in her arms, running upstairs in desperation to escape…_

…_a cold, high voice piercing the air…_

And a flash of green. That was it.

She opened her eyes, everything coming back to her. She picked the quill up from the table and wrote decisively, "_death curse_", next to her name. And waited.

Suddenly, she became aware that one of the walls had dissolved away into a thin shimmering veil, strangely blowing in the absence of wind. She carefully made her way to it and lifted it.

It surprised her. There was no pearly gate, no fluffy clouds and no angels, no devils breathing fire, definitely not the typical picture painted of heaven or hell. Because it looked just like the other world – the living world, where she had come from.

And then there he was, smiling at her. "So," he said simply. "It's over now."

And so it was.

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Done! Gotta run for dinner now! 

And don't forget to review! Love ya.


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